


His Thrall

by sillyandquiteawkward



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: M/M, Unhealthy Relationships, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:54:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24022426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sillyandquiteawkward/pseuds/sillyandquiteawkward
Summary: A reflection of Guy's recollection of Vampires and his now vampire boyfriend, Pickman.
Relationships: Pickman/Male Sole Survivor, Pickman/Sole Survivor (Fallout)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	His Thrall

Of course he didn’t believe Pickman at first when he said he was a vampire. Guy knew vampires were just made-up monsters he was supposed to pretend were real to scare kids on Halloween. But Pickman made an example of a raider they’d captured together, delicately slicing her throat and drinking up the blood that bubbled out alongside screams, and Guy found he had no other choice but to believe in the 200 years and change since he went to sleep, vampires had come into being. If Deathclaws were just giant mutated lizards, he guessed vampires were just mutated humans.

Once Pickman revealed his affliction, he was less secretive about his feeding. He had been hiding it all along their relationship and though it had been a couple months, it still was a couple months of hiding it. Pickman soon grew comfortable partaking from their captured prey even with Guy in the room, then even asking Guy to hold the raiders down for him as they squirmed and screamed.

Like with many things Pickman coerces Guy into, Guy couldn’t remember the exact words said to sway him over, but after a spell of no raiders turning up to overtake the gallery, Pickman convinced Guy to let him partake of his blood in their steed, promising to not drain his muse past the point of comfort of course. So Guy relented. And now, Guy couldn’t think about a day where he wouldn’t give himself up to Pickman to sip upon.

Guy found a rising comfort in Pickman’s feedings. Something in him melted away when Pickman drained his veins. Maybe it was that he finally felt useful, maybe it was the rush of endorphins. Or maybe he was getting addicted to the affection Pickman supplied after each feast.

It’s not like it didn’t hurt. At the beginning of each feeding, Guy cried out as Pickman bit into his skin, tears welling at his waterline. But without fail, as he lapped and kissed at the wound, Guy’s pain dulled to a tingle and then a hum. Then, when he finished his feast, Pickman would gently kiss away his tears and coo at how lovely Guy was. He’d offer Guy a number of sweets and alcohol to get him feeling better, and for larger accidental wounds, a stimpak. And that made the pain worth it.

Pickman always mused that Guy’s blood was the closest thing to actual wine he’d had since finding himself unable to stomach foods, and who was Guy to deny a fellow man his pleasure in alcohol? It was almost a duty and pride for Guy to give this to Pickman. He’d always make sure to liquor up an hour beforehand to give his blood the highest drunken effect. When Pickman sprung a session on him, Guy would stall Pickman with a kind of bloody foreplay while he drank a beer. When tangled together at night, blissfully drunk together, Guy traced each new puncture wound like a constellation and felt like he had purpose in this world he didn’t belong in.

He often vaguely imagined he’d loose his sense of self serving himself to Pickman on a silver platter, but as Guy’s true talent in life took the stage, he ignored his own thoughts to listen to Pickman’s positive affirmations instead. With each passing day, it seemed he really had lost himself.

**Author's Note:**

> Every time I write Guy n Pickman I'm like, GUy pleaSE,


End file.
